Will I ever be ready?

We are told that there is a time for things, a time to stand and fight, a time to let the argument go, a time to be happy, a time to mourn, a time to move on, a time to love, and time to marry and a time to bury those who you love.

I moved away from home at the tender age of 17. At that moment in time, I felt ready. I was ready to go to this new place called Canada, to enter Grade 12 and to expand my horizons and stretch myself. It was an experience, that was for sure.

Grade 12 was over rated. the Cliques, the adolescent swearing and the teachers who had favorites. It was not more so these elements, but it was the sheer fact that I was not a part of this established community.

Yet, throughout my whole life, I have learned to keep myself at bay, to not fully emerse myself in groups of people. Freud struck home when he said that human relations are the very source of immense pleasure and pain.

Freshman year was a hard year, 2nd year was the darkest year of my university "career", 3rd year was my limbo on earth and 4th year is the reconciliation of my past. I have suceeded in negotiating my adult life, but I'm having issues negotiating my future.

The nail in my coffin is not being able to be with my parents. My sister and I are here together, and together we will make our own family. But the knowledge that we will no longer be able to share our life like we used to is heart wrenching. One day, I hope to marry, and I know I will have to leave my family to make a family with my partner, but a part of me is unable to get enough of my family. The 11pm ventures to the heart of KL, the little jokes that we share, the waking up on Saturday mornings hearing my parents laughing and talking to each other in their room, the smell of peanut butter toast and coffee on Sunday late morning. Ribbons of memory that caress my heart brief enough for me to feel its tenderness but enough to keep me longing for more.

Nothing could've prepared me at 17 to realize that the last night at home that was agonizingly slow was the last that I should have wanted to go slower.

Now, my sister and I here are family, and I will do everything that God requires of me, but the child of me wants my parents. The child of me wants to be able to sit on their lap and know that everything will be ok. Their Love, their Pride, their Support and their Strength is ... is there ever a word that can enbody this? The english language proves itself incredibly insufficient.

All my life, my family have moved to many a places, and I counted these more than blessing. The moves we made weren't hard on me, that because I was moving with Home. My consolation is in the fact that the Love that I have for my parents are minute in comparison to Christ's of them. I can't find an answer for myself. I am fallible. This much I know, Christ is my answer.